


Waiting on Words

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Asylum, Alternate Universe - World War II, Criminal Asylum AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was behind locked doors and barred windows that they came to tell their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Broadmoor Hospital - 1942_

Jemma Simmons let her cool fingers run along the walls as she stepped back into her cell, her dull eyes staring blankly at the single cot that lay in the center of the room. Her hair hung in knots around her gaunt face, her dress hanging loosely around her frame, now much too big for her frail figure. Upon stepping into the room she heard the door slam shut only to be followed by the sound of keys jingling, signaling to her that she had been locked in. Again.

With cautious steps she walked over to the cot, scrutinizing it with care before taking a seat. Jemma placed her hands in her lap, tapping them anxiously as her eyes wandered the room. She frowned as she looked to the windows, brows furrowing as she noticed the bars that covered the panes. “Honestly, it’s as if they don’t trust us.” Her voice was hoarse, sounding almost sickly as she let out a silvery laugh. She was the same following every treatment, unaware that only hours before she said the same things as she sat on the moldy cot until something would kick start her memory and the horrors would come crashing over her.

Her focus was taken away from the barred windows when the sound of a high-pitched scream sounded from down the hall; the perfect kickstarter. The howl snapped her out of the daze she had been in, sending a current of dismay through her veins. In her time spent at Broadmoor, Jemma had learned to associate the screams with different forms of therapy. There were the agonizing wails from the lobotomy patients, the soft whimpers from those being injected with insulin, and so on. This scream was something new. She stood up from the cot and walked hesitantly to the door, placing her hands on the cool metal bars on the door’s small window, her dull eyes watching the room at the end of the hall.

She watched as a boy of around her age was pushed out of the door only to be picked up by two of the guardsmen and one of the doctors. She winced at the sight of blood dripping from his lips, grimacing as she watched it fall gracefully onto the chipping tiled floor before the boy’s body was then thrown against the wall. Jemma watched as he turned his head away from the doctor who had taken a needle out of his coat pocket, tapping at it with his finger. To this she looked to her own skin where several unhealed holes had been made over the past few days and on impulse, began to run a cool hand across the punctures on the exposed flesh.

Jemma knew what they were doing to her, knew full well as to what the repeated pokings and proddings were to do to her; she had read up briefly on the works of those who had previously put it into practice. They believed she was schizophrenic, that the reason she had been brought to Broadmoor was not because of the poison she had slipped into her aunt’s morning tea, but because she saw some higher power that told her to do so. They believed that it could be corrected with nothing more than a daily to twice-daily dosage of insulin until she fell into a coma for more than a few minutes at a time. Jemma Simmons now believed the same was being done to the young boy at the end of the hall.

She backed away from the door before the needle sunk into the boy’s skin, not wanting to watch as he squirmed away from it’s point, as he whimpered against the treatment. Her eyes remained on the bars on the door, however, as she took her seat on the moldy old cot, waiting for the young boy to walk past her. As she waited she resumed playing with her hands, inspecting her nails caked with dirt and her calloused palms. When the sound of shuffling footsteps caught her attention, Jemma stood up and glided to the door, her hands fitting against the cool metal bars once more as she caught sight of the guards leading the boy to the cell across from her own. She watched as one unlocked the door while the other kept hold of the boy’s limp form, preparing to toss his body into the cell.

“Put him in here for now. He can be moved later.” She heard the guard who had unlocked the door say to the other as he pushed open the door for him. Jemma watched as the boy was tossed to the ground, hearing as his body met with the cool, cement floor. The guards locked him in and turned to her, to which she stepped away from the door on impulse.

“Something catch your eye, freak? Think you got a sweetie?” The other guard asked her, his round face peering through the metal bars where her hands had been resting moments before. The first guard had already walked back down the hall and before Jemma could come up with some witty banter to say back, the one who spoke to her had picked up his feet and sauntered off to the end of the hall where the staircase to the second floor was.

She shook her head and began to pace the room, watching both the room across the hall and the window with the bars where she caught glimpse of the setting sun. Jemma hoped her meal would be coming soon. She held a hand to her stomach and thought of the less than edible food that would soon slip down her dry throat and fall into the empty pit that her stomach had become. The sound of an unfamiliar voice brought her attention away from the window and back to the room across the hall where the boy now stood against the bars, looking at her with a worried expression.

“Hey,” She heard his thick accent, Scottish she recognized, and gravitated towards her own barred door, following his movements with her brown eyes, “we get fed around here?” Jemma rolled her eyes and nodded to him. “I’m bloody starving.” He complained, rubbing at his arms as if he had caught a chill, before placing his hands on the bars.

“Should I ask what you’re here for?” Jemma was caught off guard when he spoke again, surprised that there were things other than food that he wished to speak to her about.

“An experiment gone quite wrong,” She told him, shrugging, “poisoned my aunt’s tea one morning. Mum called the coppers when she saw what had happened and they went through my chem kits and found the arsenic among _other_ things. Quite foolish of me really, getting caught like that. How about you?”

The boy gave a bashful grin, as if he were embarrassed to admit how he came to be placed in the lower level ward at Broadmoor Hospital, “Pyrotechnics.” He admitted after a pause, pulling away from the bars. “I  _accidentally_  blew up some of the old parts in a scrap yard, maybe a car or two. Wanted to test out my new device and got the authorities called on me; those bastards. I may have also burned down the maths wing at school awhile back..”

Jemma felt herself rolling her eyes again, suddenly her origin story didn’t seem so bad as the boy across the hall’s. “I suppose I should ask your name.” She feared that when the guards came with their dinner that he would be carted upstairs for further testing and permanent residence.

“Fitz,” He told her with a shrug, “call me Fitz.”

“Jemma, Jemma Simmons.” She responded, flinching as the sound of heavy boots came trodding down the stairs. With a final look to him, Jemma retreated to her cot where she sat patiently awaiting her meal and acting as if she hadn’t so much as glanced at Fitz. She knew what an interaction would cost her and wasn’t sure she was ready to risk that to the pyromaniac.

“Meal’s here, freak.” She heard the guard say as the flap at the bottom of her door was opened and the tray of days old food was shoved through. “Eat up.”

The cool words from the guard were the last Jemma heard that night. She had been right; her new accomplice had been taken upstairs, leaving her isolated on the bottom floor with the comatose patients. Once again Jemma Simmons was alone to nothing more than her thoughts, something that would later prove more dangerous than any interaction with the boy named Fitz.

For now she curled herself up on the cot and slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words exchanged under the watchful eyes of the men in white

Jemma woke the next morning to find herself staring at a long expanse of white wall. When she sat herself up it was as though the world around her spun in endless circles while she remained stationary. She felt nauseous. Looking to her arm she noticed two holes where the skin surrounding it began to bruise, inspecting the discoloration of her skin with a grimace on her face; _she had been treated_. With a finger touching over the two punctures she turned her gaze to the room in which she rested, looking at the other patients who all lay motionless on their cots. She noticed some of them had been tied down, their arms and legs constrained by straps of leather and sent a silent _thank-you_ that she had been left untouched in that regard. The corners of her lips turned upwards in a mischievous grin, something her features had not done in months.

With the world slowing itself back to a speed that Jemma could withstand, she moved from her bed and down to the end of the room where a large window allowed natural light to flow through. From her spot she could watch the garden (and the bars that stuck out in the instance that someone were to try and make the jump out), could watch as birds flew across the sky, watch as bees moved from flower to flower. Her eyes moved passed the bars but didn’t stray beyond the wire fence that enclosed the property; she wanted to focus on the fauna. Jemma watched as few prisoners roamed the garden under the watchful eye of the men dressed in white.

“ _Bellis perennis_ ,” she spoke in a whisper as her eyes looked over a patch of daisies. She missed being out in the field, missed being able to breathe air that wasn’t sour with the scent of insulin and rust. _It’s your own fault_ , she told herself upon stepping away from the window, _you got caught._

“You shouldn’t be awake.”

Jemma heard the man’s voice, listened as his heavy footsteps crossed the distance between them. She felt his calloused hand as it held onto her wrist and let out a howl as he dragged her back to the bed where she had previously been placed. Two others had joined the gruff man in assisting Jemma onto the bed, this time strapping her arms to the headboard while a long faced nurse brought out the tube to be placed in her nose. Another took a needle to Jemma’s arm, adding a third hole to her bruising skin.

Around her the world began to blur as she was dragged under. Her eyes closed and behind her lids came visions of the boy who had been placed in the cell across from hers for the night. She knew she wouldn’t be seeing him again; he was too new. Jemma had been receiving treatments for five weeks; three more weeks and she could be walking free of the barred windows and wired fences, could be back in her too small bedroom with her vials of chemicals and other samples from the world around her. The voices of the doctors and nurses began to fade into one long hum as she fell under, the sedative taking hold of her body as the treatment began.

 

* * *

 

When Jemma woke, gone was the line of white beds and the large windows that looked over the garden. She woke to find herself back in her room on the same dingy cot from before. A pile of mashed potatoes and a small roll waited for her at the door and with caution she stood up to obtain the meal, her first in what felt like weeks.

The coma had lasted three days.

The doctors had labeled it their most successful with Jemma and said that if they could stretch it across a span of five days, she could be finished with the treatments much sooner than anticipated. Their favorite test subject would soon be walking free, cured of whatever inner illnesses that they claimed she possessed.

For now Jemma picked up the tray with her rotting meal and began to pick at it, clawing at the mashed potatoes with the end of her fork before slipping them into her mouth. She grimaced; they were cold. The roll that she then picked up was all too hard for her teeth and after inspecting it, she tossed it back onto the tray and stood to take it back to the door. Upon taking the three necessary steps, the sound of keys rattling passed through her ears and Jemma was soon greeted by the gaunt face of one of the employees at Broadmoor.

“Sir,” she greeted, handing him the tray and ignoring as he reciprocated by titling her with names of indecency.

“Director Coulson says you’ve got time outside today,” was all the man said before tossing the tray aside to properly lead Jemma up the stairs and out the door that led to the garden. “You have two hours.” he told her before walking off to talk to one of the other employees that was on watch duty.

She was as free as she could get behind Broadmoor’s thick gates.

 

* * *

 

The persistent sound of bees buzzing around her head caught Jemma’s attention as she walked among the flowers. She didn’t bat them away in fear of being stung and the risk of being rushed back to her room, or to treatment.

“Did you know they have five eyes?” it was the same voice that Jemma had first heard nearly a week ago. It was the familiar Scottish accent she hadn’t heard since their encounter behind the doors of their cells; his first night at Broadmoor.

“And two stomachs,” she responded, watching as the one nearest to her head flew off to bother one of the guards. With the bee forgotten Jemma looked to the boy that had grown paler, more frail in appearance, since their last encounter almost a week before. “Electroshock?” she questioned and he nodded. “After my first treatment I wasn’t allowed outside for a month, you’ve been here a week and suddenly you’ve got all of the privileges.”

Fitz shrugged, picking at one of the flowers; a peony. "Maybe they think I have less to build with out here, just got my bare hands."

"You're thinking of sneaking out." she was quick to make the accusation, a gasp passing through her parted lips.

"'Course I am, who hasn't?"

Jemma didn't want to tell him that she would be discharged soon and wouldn’t have to bother with sneaking out only to be placed back in the electroshock ward; she simply nodded. Fitz gestured for her to take a seat on the overgrown grass after he himself sat down. She followed and immediately tensed as the strands of grass began to tickle her bare legs. Above them came the sound of planes that were filled with young men heading to London where they were to meet with Dwight D. Eisenhower, the new Commander of American forces in Europe. Jemma looked upwards, watching the planes as they flew beyond her line of vision.

“Why aren’t you up there?” she asked, her eyes falling back on him, “They could use someone like you to build the weapons, teach our men how to use them..”

He shrugged, tossing aside the stands of grass he had been playing with, “No one would listen to me. Besides, I’ve got asthma.”

_And you want to run away from a high security hospital_. Jemma’s expression remained neutral, she didn’t want to outwardly express her concern to the boy sitting beside her whose spirits appeared so high at the prospect of escaping. “Mum refused to let me sign up for nursing,” she admitted after a moment’s silence, “said I didn’t have the proper training.”

Fitz didn’t respond at first, having occupied himself by tying together strands of grass. He needed to keep his hands busy, needed to keep himself distracted. “Do you see that watchtower over there?” he asked, breaking the silence that had crept over them. His gaze didn’t stray from the grass that he had now added a dandelion to, but heard Jemma mumble a ‘yes’. “If we could get in there, there’s a ladder on the other side that’s beyond the gate. It would be our way out.”

“Now you’ve not even been in a week -”

“And I don’t deserve to be here at all, neither do you.”

“You set your maths wing on fire! I poisoned my aunt. Accidently, of course, but I poisoned her, Fitz. I took her life and got caught with chemicals I had no business having..” her voice was shrill, her tone too loud. One of the employees had heard their argument and began to creep closer. “Maybe we are a couple of psychopaths.” the words continued to pour from her lips, words she wasn’t even sure she believed. Jemma didn’t want to call herself a psychopath, didn’t want to believe that she was the ‘ _schizophrenic monster_ ’ that the doctors made her out to be. “What makes you believe we’d be able to sneak out alive?”

Fitz stifled a laugh, shaking his head at her. “I don’t like change.” he told her plainly, gesturing around to where they sat in the garden enclosed in wire fencing, “I just want to get back to my old life, back with my mum.”

“Then why did you set it on fire? Why’d you set fire to those cars in the scrap yard? If you were so concerned about protecting this pasty life of yours, why did you do it?”

When he didn’t answer, Jemma stood up. She was ready to leave, ready to return back to her cell where she could make light of the words exchanged between them. To her, he didn’t make sense and she wondered if he felt the same about her.

 

* * *

 

Back on her dingy old cot Jemma thought what she had said over, guilt settling in her stomach like a virus that would later spread throughout the rest of her body, infecting her cells until she found herself feeling useless. She always thought of herself as more daring, less cowardly than she appeared to be. Though she fought hard to obey the rules, Jemma valued the sensation she got when she did do something more thrilling.

Jemma went to sleep that night with the guilt still settling over her, making home in her stomach. She hoped that in the morning she could find Fitz again, hoped she could apologize to him and ask what he needed assistance in; she was going to help him escape.

 

It was 3:21 a.m. and Jemma remained awake, thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong with her plan to aid him in fleeing the barred windows and wire fences. “Preparation,” she told herself over and over, turning over and listening to the cot creak as she did so. As long as things went according to a plan, she would be alright.

  
It was 3:23 a.m. and Jemma was ready to take the second biggest risk of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god this took longer than I thought. Thank you everyone for being patient. Part three should be up within the month (I hope no longer than 2 weeks)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help from another individual

Three days had gone by and Jemma now found herself sitting alone in the day-room, watching the other inmates as they played chess or wrote letters that may never be delivered to their loved ones. Her head was foggy, thoughts of the occurrence in the garden taking forefront in her mind. She tried to distract herself with her surroundings, picking up the on static from the radio on the table next to her. She heard talk of the war projecting from the speakers, the familiar voices of England’s political leaders reassuring their country. Jemma had focused herself so intently on their voices that when the chair across from her squeaked against the floor (a sign someone had taken to sitting in it), she didn’t recognize the guest until they spoke up.

“I heard you want to get out of here,” her tone was arcane, coming off as almost seductive to Jemma, who had now met her gaze, “perhaps I could be of help.”

“I never said such a thing.”

The woman was dressed as she, in the same off-white gown and slippers to match. Her dark hair curled tightly around her face, her warm eyes watching Jemma’s movements with interest. She introduced herself as Raina; no last name or back story was given. When Jemma prepared to introduce herself, Raina appeared to already know who she was and why she was at Broadmoor, saying such things to the girl.

“If I may, how did you come about Broadmoor?” Jemma asked her.

Raina shrugged, “Volunteered as a nurse for the army back in the States, got sent over here, and then suddenly three very large men came into camp with a handful of papers and a pair of gun. Said they were looking for me,” she gave a smirk, “They found some dirt on me, who I used to work for; now I’m here.”

Jemma wished to inquire her further, but upon opening her mouth to speak, Raina was being escorted away by a man in white towards the electroshock ward. She was left alone to watch those around her, taking in what the girl had said to her on escaping. The way she carried herself, the way words fell from her lips like satin, both intrigued and terrified Jemma. If she were to actually escape with Fitz, Raina could be the one to help.

 

On the other end of the hospital, Fitz lay strapped to a cot in one of the white-walled rooms. Insulin entered his body in mass amounts, causing the beginning of his first insulin-induced coma at Broadmoor; one he wouldn’t wake up from for two days.

 

Back in her own cell, Jemma wondered why she hadn’t seen him since their last meeting in the garden three days prior. She assumed the worst, fearing that they had been overheard by more than just Raina and that he was being punished for even having the idea of evading the place. The thought of the doctors placing him in the shock therapy ward for treatment did not cross her mind as she picked at the dinner they had brought her. He had been at Broadmoor not much longer than a week and she believed that that was too soon to start treatments. She thought to herself that she could do a better job of conducting the therapy, that her level of intellect in the field surpassed theirs.

Jemma set down the tray of now-cold food on the ground, standing herself and walking over to the barred window that overlooked the garden. She could see the tower where guards sat day after day with their guns, ready to shoot down anyone who tried to escape the grounds. The lights on the tower flashed past her window, keeping the grounds illuminated in the event of someone attempting to flee.

Walking away from the widow she sat back down on the bed, listening to the moans and cries from the patients around her. Directly above her was the electroshock ward and even at this hour there were treatments being underwent. The floor above her also housed the schizophrenics, a place she had stayed upon arrival before they sent her to the floor below. She believed it was because she cooperated so well, did everything they asked of her without question. She thought the doctors realized that she had been truthful when saying there were people worse than her at the hospital; her experiment was nothing compared to some. The arsenic was merely a misfortune.

Continuing to think on the matter, Jemma laid herself on the cot and began to drift, hoping in the morning she would again find Fitz. She wished to tell him about Raina.

 

* * *

 

It took four days for her to find him again, and this time he was sitting with a young boy in the dayroom. The two were engaged in conversation, one that stopped when they saw Jemma approach. Fitz introduced the boy as Donnie Gill, an American whose father dumped him in a boarding school not far from the hospital while he joined the war effort. After two months Donnie was sent to Broadmoor per the request of one of his professors to be ‘ _corrected_.’

“That’s awful,” Jemma expressed her sympathies, pulling up a chair between the pair and leaning in to talk to Fitz. “I met someone who knows,” she left it at that, narrowing her eyes and hoping he would understand what she was talking about.

“Knows what?” Fitz asked her, looking at her as she narrowed her eyes further.

“Knows what we are going to do, Fitz!” her voice rose, catching the attention of Donnie who looked to her before preparing to leave, figuring he shouldn’t be a part of the conversation. Jemma stopped him when he tried to stand, giving him a warm smile and telling him she would be leaving soon enough, that he could talk to his new friend in private momentarily. “If you can,” she looked back at Fitz, “try to come back first thing tomorrow morning.” she didn’t wait for a response, Jemma stood up and gave a nod to both of them before leaving the table in a hurry. She wanted to think further on the matter and perhaps consult Raina again, who was sitting alone by one of the little brown radios, before she spoke to Fitz again. She wasn’t sure if it was the treatments that had affected his memory, or if he genuinely didn’t know what she was asking of him. Regardless, she didn’t want to press the matter in front of Donnie, a boy she didn’t know if she could yet trust.

“Raina,” she greeted upon walking over, “I was wondering if you could perhaps.. maybe.. offer me some advice.” the girl with the mad curls gave a cunning smirk, a gesture that would have normally caught Jemma off guard, frightened her almost. When the words began rolling off her tongue, however, she found herself enticed by every one of them.

“You want me to help you?” she tilted her head up, placing a finger to her cheek, “And why would I do that?”

Jemma shrugged, "Honestly, I'm not sure. To be frank with you, I don't believe you will actually go through with helping us."

The grin on Raina's face grew and she placed her elbows on the table, hands resting on her cheeks as she leaned closer, "Us? There's more than one of you trying to get out..” Jemma nodded and Raina relaxed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t seem like the kind of girl who would break the rules.”

“I’m not really. I was experimenting and I must have labeled the bottle incorrectly and, of course, the arsenic was not entirely my fault but I happened to be keeping it safe when mum called the authorities on me and-.”

This caused Raina to roll her eyes. “Bring the boy over and perhaps I will consider it.”

Jemma was taken aback, she had never once mentioned the other party involved in the plan for escaping the hospital and she expressed this to Raina. “Now I never once said it had to do with a boy, or rather, that a boy was involved..”

“But isn’t it always?”

With that final word, Raina got up and left the table, disappearing around the corner and leaving Jemma alone. When she looked around her, she saw that Fitz and Donnie had too left the room and only two or three individuals remained. The world outside was dark and Jemma lost herself in the traveling light of the watchtower, putting what Raina had said in the back of her mind. For Jemma, it had never been about a boy; never in her life had she done something for the sake of a man. She did what she pleased for herself, for her intellect and research, and even now she clung to this philosophy.

She stood up from the table and drifted out of the room soon after, growing bored with the light that could one day catch her as she made her way across the grounds, creating a beacon for the guards to hold her at gunpoint. As she walked back to her room where a guard was waiting to let her back in, she wondered if escaping was truly worth it. Her case wasn’t nearly as bad as some and if she kept with treatments the doctors would find her fit to be released, she hoped, sooner than expected.

Walking into her cell she continued to think on the matter, endless thoughts swimming through her mind.

_He’s so much worse off than I am._

_I can’t leave him._

_He can take care of himself._

_I can take care of myself._

_He doesn’t need me._

_But can I trust her?_

When she finally drifted under, two hours had passed by and she had made her decision. She would help until things left her control, until the inevitable - whatever it may be - occurred.

 

In the morning she woke to find no breakfast, but rather, the face of one of the guards staring down at her. He took her by the arm and told her this week would mark the beginning of her electroshock treatments; if she cooperated with this, they would cancel the insulin therapy and move her to an actual room on the third floor. Jemma smiled, the third floor was home to those who were on their way to being released.

_Maybe I won’t have to partake in his plan after all._

The guilt of the unspoken words came over her all too quickly as she walked alongside the guard. As they passed a window she caught sight of the familiar watchtower, scrutinizing how hard it would be to climb the ladder and jump the gate undetected, “Nearly impossible.” she spoke aloud and the guard tightened the grip he held on her wrist.

“Quiet, freak.” he told her and Jemma obeyed, ready to take her treatment without complaint. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Two months later. I am so sorry. I will try to be more diligent with my updates!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> secrets revealed by the man in charge

The man before her had advanced his rook, a foolish move she thought to herself as she took it with her next play. Jemma watched with a grin on her face as the man got up from the table, announcing that he had had enough of the game. She allowed him to go, thinking to herself what a poor sport he was. When Jemma gave a look around she found that few still remained in the day-room. She had hoped to find someone to engage in a game with her. Her treatment had gone over better than expected and although she found herself facing both fatigue and shock, she couldn’t bring herself to retire to her room.

She watched Donnie Gill walk into the room only to walk out after crossing the space. The guards didn’t look at him the way they looked at her as of late, they paid no attention to him as he made his way down the long hallway towards the cafeteria. With talk of her moving into sufficient living quarters, Jemma looked forward to being able to step foot into the cafeteria, to accept food that wasn’t cold or going rotten. She hoped that with the move the guards would begin to treat her like a human.

Donnie had long since disappeared from her line of vision and when Jemma blinked away the haze that had crept over her eyes she noticed Fitz walking towards her with an impassive expression on his face. He looked, to her, as if he had just come from an electroshock treatment.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” She asked him as he took a seat across from her, “You look awful.”

He brushed the comment off, telling her it was nothing more than a bit of fatigue, that he hadn’t been sleeping well. “Must be the cot,” he tried, “can’t seem to get comfortable on the damn thing.”

Jemma didn’t press the matter any further, though kept an eye on him as their conversation developed. She mentioned that tomorrow they would be moving her to an official room, that her days of sleeping on the years old cot and eating cold, stale food would be coming to an end. “I suppose they finally see that the ridiculous operations they have been performing on me are starting to make a difference, though I can’t say I feel a change. Perhaps I’ll be checking out of here within the month!”

The comment didn’t sit well with Fitz who now looked down at the table, clenching his fists against and allowing them to rest against his thighs. “Wonderful, Jemma,” the words were low, barely picked up by the girl sitting across from him.

“Don’t start with that, Fitz. I can clearly see your discomfort.” Though her interactions with him had been few since their meeting not a full month before, she had picked up on certain habits of his, certain expressions of different emotions. The discomfort and verging anger was made clear to her, who now leaned forward. “If you think that this has changed my plans to help you -” she stopped herself when the sound of footsteps grew closer, turning her head to see one of the men in white walking towards the pair of them.

“You,” the man nodded to Fitz, “the Director says you’re not supposed to be out of your room until dinner.” With a hand on Fitz’s forearm, the guard helped him up from the table, escorting him out of the room without another word.

“Odd.” Jemma mused to herself, remaining seated at the table before she too was collected and sent back to her room where a meal was waiting for her.

* * *

She spent her afternoon on the cot, looking up at the window with the rusty bars across it, listening as the soft patter of rain touched against the glass. She thought back to the conversation from earlier in the day, wondering to herself why her words had settled so badly with the boy. She made a promise to herself that she would help him out, knowing he didn’t belong at Broadmoor any more than she. She believed one action of his, one mistake she did not know the whole truth of, should not define him as a criminal. To Jemma, he just appeared lonely.

This thought did not part with her when the guards came to unlock her cell, saying to her that she had a meeting with the Director. She was surprised, thinking that the meeting was not to be until the following day. Jemma walked with a guard on either side of her up the staircase and down the hall that played home to Director Coulson’s office. She had only spoken to him once, when her mother was signing her up for Broadmoor. He was American, something Jemma found odd. She wondered how an American man came to such power in an English criminal asylum; she figured it was something unconventional.

The guards left her when the door to the Director’s office opened. Jemma was then instructed to take a seat across from where he sat at a large oak table. “Afternoon, sir,” she greeted, playing with her hands as he looked her over.

“Miss Simmons,” he responded, setting down a pen onto a stack of papers, “it has come to my attention that your treatments have been going over well. Would you agree?”

She nodded to him, “Yes, I would say so.” She didn’t go further, not being able to lie past a string of five words. She couldn’t say that she felt the same now as when she first came to Broadmoor, didn’t want to risk her chances of getting a real room.

“Tell me what you know about Leo Fitz.”

The question took her aback, she had thought the interview would be tailored to her and her needs, not the boy she barely knew. “He hasn’t been here long,” she chose her words carefully, not wanting to reveal his plan to escape, the plan she was set to help in. “He blew up a wing of his school, I believe, as well as some cars in a scrap yard.”

“Is that what he told you?”

Jemma ceased playing with her hands, looking at the Director with confusion, “Is that not why he’s here, sir?”

“Leo Fitz checked himself in here for reasons we aren’t entirely sure of. He has no criminal background or record of any kind. He seems like a good guy.”

She bit down on the inside of her lips, trying not to speak aloud as to why he would try to escape if he put himself in Broadmoor on his own accord. To her, it didn’t make sense. “Why here? If he believes there’s something wrong with him, why not check in somewhere else?”

“We don’t know that either. His file shows no record of mental illness, substance abuse, or anything in between.”

“Then why did you let him in at all?”

“He was persistent.” When Jemma didn’t respond, he continued, “Now, about you, Jemma. We think you’re ready for a real room.”

Jemma smiled, this time looking at the Director with gratitude, “Thank you, sir.”

“If we’re done here I would be happy to escort you to your new room a day early.”

She gave a nod and the two stood up, Director Coulson leading her up a flight of stairs and down a long white hallway. They stopped at a door marked 106, her new place of residence. “There’s a new pair of clothes on the bed. Dinner starts in twenty minutes; I heard they’re having ham.” With a nod to both of the guards, Coulson left them.

After opening the door for her, the guards too left, leaving Jemma lingering in the doorway. She had been surprised by the Director’s kindness to her, finding it astounding how he was compassionate in the way that every other worker was not. She wondered if he was like that towards everyone. As she stepped inside, she no longer thought of the Director, but what she had learned about Fitz, how he had checked himself in under mysterious circumstances and had been granted a place among them. She was amazed at his lying capabilities, not suspecting him to be the deceptive type. When she saw the door across the hall open, she was almost unsurprised to see that it was him.

“Fitz,” her tone was cheery. She wanted him to come over before she confronted him, knowing it would be all too easy for him to leave her if she said something now, “funny seeing you here.”

“Jemma?”

“The Director gave me a proper room a day early.”

“I can see that.”

Her lips pushed upwards in a smile, “He must really like you if you’ve already got a spot up here. Of course, why would you want to escape if you’re so close to being released?”

He walked over to her, looking around to see if someone was coming before entering into her room. She followed hesitantly, shutting the door behind her. With the door closed, he began to talk in a quick tongue. “I didn’t blow anything up, I never intended on sneaking out, and I was just using this to pass some time before -”

“Before what?” She couldn’t help but interrupt him.

“Before the war ended!”

Jemma’s lips separated, forming an _O_ shape while her brows furrowed, “Why would that matter? I thought you said you would be ineligible for the military on your asthma alone?”

“No, I’m just a bloody coward.”

“I still don’t understand why you’d make such an elaborate plan for sneaking out if you’re too afraid of being conscripted. Why approach me about it at all?”

Fitz laughed, shaking his head at her and taking a seat on the bed, “I was trying to get you out of here.” He waits, letting her take everything in before continuing, “Before we talked that night, I had no intention of leaving until there was word that the war had ended. I still don’t, but it got me thinking that perhaps I wasn’t the only sane one here - well, relatively sane.” It was the most Jemma had heard him talk and as he opened his mouth again, she joined him on the bed. “I was surprised when you asked me if I was going to sneak out, but I went along with it. When you mentioned wanting to become a nurse for the soldiers, I actually considered what you said. I wanted to get you out of here.”

“You didn’t think I was insane? Bit of a shock.”

“I didn’t think that one mistake could make you crazy, Jemma.”

She acted on impulse next, giving his cheek a quick kiss before saying to him, “I think we ought to get dinner now before everything good is gone.” She got up from the bed and reopened the door, walking down the hall with a blush creeping over her cheeks.

When she heard his footsteps behind her, she didn’t turn or stop to wait for him to catch up with her stride; she was embarrassed and grateful and thousands of questions still crossed through her mind.

* * *

 

He sat across from her at a small wooden table, their trays bumping against each others as they ate their meal in conducted silence. Jemma had almost hoped he would have sat at another table, giving her a chance to think over what had happened. Midway through her ham she broke the silence, questions having weighed her down long enough. “Why me?”

“Jemma -”

“Honestly, why not any other person in this facility? You had spoken to me once, known me a week.”

“I told you; you don’t deserve this.”

“Well neither do you!” Her voice was louder than intended and several heads looked over. “And do not tell me that the only reason you want to stay here is because you’re afraid of being conscripted because I will go to Director Coulson and get you released immediately.” She was firm in her words, looking at him with a hardened expression. “Besides, the odds of you being selected are slim enough as it is.”

“Yeah, but they’re still there.”

“Honestly, I think you’re being ridiculous. Sometimes you need to learn to take a risk.” She was impressed with herself, impressed that she had told someone to take a risk when she herself was very firm in the following of rules.

He didn’t respond, not wanting to dig into the conversation any further. Instead, he busied himself in his meal before leaving the table to return to his room. Left alone, Jemma weighed the consequences of actually going to the Director and telling him the real reason why Fitz had checked into Broadmoor. In the end, she too climbed the stairs and found the room marked 106, ready to sleep in a real bed for the first time in months.

* * *

A knock at the door woke her up some time after three. She was in the midst of the first pleasant dream since arrival when she was forced to leave her bed and go to the door she assumed would be locked. “What are you doing?” She found Fitz standing outside of her door, a weary smile on his face. “And how are the doors not locked?”

He danged a pair of keys in front of her. “Raina got them for me. Actually, she found me and gave them to me without a word. She’s strange, dunno if I trust her.”

“And if you get caught with them?”

Evidently, he had not thought about the consequences of being caught with the keys. “Well.. we could, uh, hide slide them under someone else’s door? Or leave them in the hall?”

Jemma pressed her hands to her temples, instructing him to get in her room and to quietly shut the door behind him. He did as told, hands shaking as he sat on her bed. She switched on the small desk lamp, giving the room a small glow as she took her place at his side. “One of us is going to be punished, we can only lock one door.”

“We’ll lock yours.”

“Or we can unlock the rest of the doors in the hall and leave the keys in front of one of the other doors, like they forgot to lock up..” She realized how stupid the plan sounded as she was saying it. “We’re dead for sure. Unless..”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard what I’m going to say, Fitz. We’re not going to sneak out of here at this very moment, don’t be stupid.”

He relaxed a little, moving back on the bed so that he was resting against the wall. She followed, resting her head against his shoulder and giving a yawn.

“We could unlock all the rooms on the floor and then place the keys _under_ someone’s door.” The plan did not sound anything like her but Fitz nodded in agreement. “Then we could go to Coulson first thing in the morning and say that when we woke up, our doors were unlocked.” Nerves ate at her as she watched Fitz process the rest of the plan. It wasn’t something she would usually say or do, but in the event of protecting the pair of them for another day, she was more willing.

“Let’s just make it quick, yeah?”

 

They worked quietly, not a word passing between them as they took turns unlocking the doors. When they had completed the hall, they slid the keys under 109 and found their way back to Jemma’s room.

“Now,” Fitz was back on the bed, looking at Jemma with tired eyes, “I wanted to tell you something and I couldn’t sleep until I did.” He doesn’t wait for a response, “I thought about what you said and you’re right. I shouldn’t be here. I’m going to talk to the Director in the morning.”

She smiled, not having words to say to him. He gave her a smile of his own before getting up from the bed and opening the door.

“Night, Jemma.” He told her as he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

She didn’t understand his sudden desire to leave and it nagged her as she closed her eyes; it invaded her thoughts as she fell asleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh. That was not supposed to take so long. Unfortunately, school and life got in the way. Then nanowrimo began. But I took time away from my novel to make an update!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> touches of freedom following hard goodbyes

She woke herself up at the first signs of morning, feeling the light as it touched against her face through the window. When she roused herself from the bed, she walked towards the window where she could see the garden in it's entirety. Jemma even caught a glimpse at the watchtower that she was so revealed she would not have to sneak from.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door was pushed open and a man in white took hold of her arm. "Time for treatment," he joked, pulling her down the hall and ordering her to descend down the flight of stairs. She complied, grateful that he hadn't said a word about her door being unlocked when he had come to collect her. She was walked down to the electroshock hall and was instructed to enter into room 33 through the already open door..

"Director says once a week for the next three weeks."

“And then?” Jemma asked, a flicker of hope in her eyes. She usually didn’t talk to the men in white, but she was curious; she wanted to know if he meant she could be leaving in as little as three weeks.

He didn’t respond, but urged her to move further into the room so that he could shut the door.

She looked around the room, finding a chair not unlike one she would see in a barbershop. On the table beside it, there was a machine. Next to the machine was a round disk, one Jemma knew would be placed on her head at the start of the procedure; she had done this too many times before. The man didn’t have to tell her to sit, she had already sat herself down in the large chair and placed her hands in her lap.

“Shall we begin?” She asked, hoping the sooner it began, the sooner it would end and she could seek out Fitz. Questions she wished to ask him formulated in her mind as the piece was placed around her head, the needles poking at her skin. Thoughts drifted in and out, however, as the machine roared to life after the man turned the dial. She was started at four.

The electric currents passed through her, causing her body to shake against the chair as the dial was moved to the number five. Screams came from her lips before she was silenced by a second man in white who placed a block of wood in her mouth. Her vision went hazy as she entered the more severe convulsions, body rattling further as the dial reached six. Jemma remembered little else after the most severe of the seizures began, passing out just before the end.f

She woke to find herself back in her room, a tray of now-cold eggs and toast waiting for her on the bedside table. A knock at her door caused her to leave the bed, her bare toes chilled against the wooden floor as she did so. She wondered where her wool socks went, though soon let the thought push out of her head when she found that Fitz was waiting on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Fitz,” she greeted him with a little nod, a shiver running through her body as she invited him to join her in the room. He shook his head, saying he only had a minute. Her lips formed an O-shape as she rested against the door-frame, “We didn’t get caught did we? Oh, please tell me -”

She was cut off by a string of three words.

“I’m leaving, Jemma.”

“What?”

Fitz shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his feet and not at the girl before him, “I talked to the Director this morning and he cleared me. I only came to say goodbye. I’m leaving after they bring up my clothes; I’ve got a car waiting for my upfront.”

“And what will you possibly do from there? Go home?”

“They’re going to drop me off at the nearest train station that will take me to London. I’m going to enlist in the army.” His voice was filled with confidence, though the expression on his face told of his uneasiness in his decision. “And I, uh, wanted to say thank you. Thank you for having the - having faith in me, I guess.”

He turned to go, saying that he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs; Jemma urged that there was no such sound and stepped to reach for his wrist. She pulled him back, bringing her lips to the corner of his and placing a soft kiss there. She then placed a kiss fully on his lips this time, bringing her arms up so that they wrapped around his neck. Breaking this kiss, she placed her head on his shoulder and moved her arms around his waist, wrapping him in a warm hug. She was overwhelmed and continued to hold onto him until the sounds of footsteps did come clanking up the stairs when she quickly pushed away.

“Be careful, okay?” She pleaded, walking back into her own room with traces of tears on her pink cheeks.

“Don’t worry, Jemma, I’ll be fine.” Was the last he said to her before she shut her door and took to her bed, letting the tears fall more freely now.

As quickly as she thought she had got him back, that they could try their hand at a relatively normal friendship, he was lost to her once more. He was to enter the world of war while she stayed behind, patiently waiting her turn to evade Broadmoor’s thick gates.

* * *

It was late July now and Jemma sat facing Raina at a table, avoiding the radio’s coverage of the war. The voice spoke of another defeat for Britain against Erwin Rommel that had occurred two days prior - on the 26th. “I wish it were over,” Jemma commented as the casualty list was read. She hadn’t counted the exact number of days since Fitz left Broadmoor, but placed it somewhere around the three week mark. It wasn’t enough time for him to go through proper military training, yet she still feared she would hear his name announced over the radio.

“It’d be nice to walk out of here into a free world,” Raina mused, looking around the room at the glossy-eyed faces of patients who had recently finished treatment or those that sat with their heads pressed against the table in misery. “Did they give you a release date?”

“The fifth of August,” Jemma gave a little smile. “My final treatment is tomorrow morning and they promised it would be a light one. Did they give you a release date?”

Raina shook her head, “I think they like having me here. I’m their favorite toy.”

The two continued to chat until dinner was announced. They parted ways when Raina informed Jemma that she had another obligation to attend to and would miss the bulk of the hour that their food was served. Jemma instead found herself a tray and picked her meal for the night - mashed potatoes, chicken, and peas - before sitting at an empty table. The food was mild in temperature when Jemma began to eat it, and she longed for one of the home cooked meals her mother used to offer to her when she was growing up. It gave her only a greater reason to look forward to her release. She quickly finished her meal and walked to her room without passing by a familiar face. Jemma entered the room in silence without so much as a glance to the empty room across the hall.

She fell asleep early that evening and was woken the following morning by the sounds of heavy footsteps walking towards her bed. It was the morning of her final treatment and she stepped out of bed with the faintest touch of a smile on her face as she was led down to one of the treatment rooms.

As she underwent the treatment, she focused on the light at the end of the tunnel, on being released. Jemma continued this until the convulsions grew too strong and she lost consciousness. As always, she woke to find herself back in her room with a pile of breakfast that had grown cold.

* * *

On the fourth of August, the day before her scheduled departure, Jemma decided to have a final conversation with Donnie Gill. She asked if he had heard about a release date and he shook his head, saying he thought the Director had forgotten that he was even there. His last treatment had been nearly two weeks ago and he had not heard mention of when he would be receiving another.

“I’m sure you’ll be out soon, Donnie.” Jemma gave him a quick, affectionate shoulder squeeze as she informed him that she had a meeting with the Director to finalize plans for the following day. As she left, she began to think about just how much she would miss the young boy (and even Raina - as mysterious as she appeared) and turned to give a final wave. When he waved back she put on a smile and walked up to where the Director’s office was.

The meeting was brief and Jemma was granted time outside before dinner. She was escorted to the door that a second guard pushed open. It was a calm, humid day with little clouds covering the sky. She nodded her thanks to the guard before taking off at a leisurely pace through the garden. She walked past a patch of daisies, seeing as a bee flew away from one of the ones in the group. It reminded her of the conversation she had had with Fitz in late June; it had been their first conversation about his escape plan. Now he had escaped and tomorrow it would be her turn. A little smile appeared on her lips as she watched another bee buzz close to her head. The memories continued to rush over her as she walked around the garden before informing one of the men in white waiting by the door that she was ready to go back inside.

She ate her dinner alone in haste, wanting to retire to her room as soon as possible. The Director would wake her at dawn the following morning to escort her to the cab that would take her as far as the train station. She would be given a small sum of money to buy the ticket to get her home where her mother had been made aware that she would be returning. For now, Jemma climbed into her bed, grateful that it would be her last night of slumber in the plain room.

The morning of August the fifth was met with the sound of rain pattering softly against the window. When Jemma heard the knock at the door, she had long since been awake and now stood in front of the window, watching the rain fall from behind the bars. Director Coulson’s voice snapped her out of the daze she had slipped into and she turned to face him. He handed her a brown dress and a pair of loafers to match - the same outfit she had arrived in some odd months before.

He backed out of the room, instructing her to change and to open the door when she had finished. Jemma quickly did so and reopened the door, stepping past the threshold for the last time. She walked with the Director down the hall and descended the flight of stairs. She was led down a different hallway, one that led to Broadmoor’s entrance, where she would be able to push past the heavy doors and walk out into the rainy morning to the cab. The guards stayed back as Jemma was walked to the doors by Director Coulson; he told her to do the honors of pushing them open.

The cab was waiting for her and as the Director opened the back seat door for her, she gave him a _thank you_ before she slid in and the door was slammed shut.

**  
**She was finally free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there will be between 2-3 more chapters! Again, thank you so much to everyone who supports this; it means a lot.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> war touches both parties

 

The woman looked over Jemma’s files with a _tisk_ , reaching for the stamp to press into the paper. Jemma tensed, knowing that when the stamp touched the red ink she would be faced with rejection. It had been four months since she left Broadmoor and in those months she had worked towards becoming a nurse in the army. Though her mother hadn’t welcomed her back with a hug or even a smile, she offered Jemma a place of residence while she sorted out her life.

(She was amazed to find that her room hadn't changed in the slightest.)

She took her eyes off of the papers and the woman with the stamp, looking instead to the windows where a thick snow was falling softly against them. Her mind drifted, not coming back into focus until she heard the woman clear her throat.

"Be here at 9 o'clock on the dot tomorrow morning. No exceptions, dear.”

When Jemma was handed back the folder she saw a black marking, one that said she had been accepted. A smile crossed her lips and she was expressing her thanks, hugging the folder to her chest. The woman called for the next person to step forward and Jemma stepped from the line. She walked with an added spring in her step down to the door where a blast of cold December air was waiting to touch against her face. With one hand she pulled up her scarf and began the walk back to her mother’s complex with a hopeful outlook for her future.

* * *

 

“Number 4009,” a loud voice called, face scrunched as he waited for an answer.

“Here, sir.” Fitz gave a breathy response, saluting to the lieutenant. He ignored the numbness that was creeping over his body and didn’t flinch when snowflakes touched at his nose or his ears. He had been a soldier officially for three weeks, and in those three weeks he had learned how to build up a tolerance for things like the cold.

He stood alongside the Royal Navy, feeling out of place as they all knew one another by name. To them he was just a number, their mechanic (even after he told them he was trained for combat) incase something went wrong on the way to Bordeaux.

They were dismissed for the rest of the afternoon and evening; in the morning they would begin their journey. Fitz walked off towards his cabin, hearing someone call “Fritz” as he did so. He only walked faster, annoyance showing on his flushed face. They never got his name right. He heard the same voice call to him again, and this time he decided to turn and face the man.

“What, Wallace?”

“The boys and I are going to the town, they thought you should come with us.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes, thinking over every possible scenario as to how this was just an elaborate plan to embarrass him. In the end he decided to go, knowing it was better than sitting in a cabin on a bed worse than the one from the asylum with little light to read over the latest novel his mother sent him (he was currently engaged in Dickens’ _A Tale of Two Cities_ ). He followed behind the man, who led him to a larger group. They set out for the town on foot, knowing it wasn’t more than a mile away, chatting away and making jokes in the fading December light.

It was dark when they arrived and few streetlamps lit up the streets; the group had no problem finding the pub, however. Twenty men filed in, Fitz bringing up the rear, and found places to sit on wooden stools. A woman smiled at them and a man gave them a nod of encouragement.

“First round is on the house,” the bartender announced. He was met with a round of cheers from the men who began to call out their orders. FItz immersed himself in the hollering of his comrades, feeling at ease among the group.

In the morning, he was ready to stand alongside them.

* * *

 

The training was harder than Jemma expected. She never realized how weak Broadmoor had made her until she was instructed to do strength training. She managed a single push-up before being unable to support herself any longer and falling onto her stomach. She received a tisk from the woman running the training and a snicker from one of the girls in the program.

Jemma had passed the medical practice part of her training with almost no effort; she only had to pass the physical portion before she could be sent to the nearest camp as an official army nurse. It was taking longer than she had anticipated. Not the four months she had heard some had been forced through, but long enough.

A week and a half later Jemma could do five push-ups before falling to her stomach, and had lowered her mile time down to twelve minutes (she had started at nearly fifteen). Her accomplishments earned her praise from the woman in charge. She said to Jemma, "Ten push-ups and a ten minute mile by next week and we will send you out."

Jemma nodded, smiling at the woman as she walked back through the halls until she found her room. A few of the other girls sat on their beds, gossiping away about when they would be sent to the camps. Jemma joined them, delighted to tell the women that it could be less than a week before she was in the field.

"Where do you think you'll be stationed?" A soft-spoken voice asked. Her name was Melanie, one of Jemma's favorites.

Jemma shrugged, unsure.

Conversation began to break up as the women went their separate ways. Jemma rested that evening better than she had in a long time. The anxiety of not being physically strong enough to become a nurse was subsiding, and that night her dreams were peaceful. In the morning, she would try again.

In a week's time she was given a uniform and an assignment. She joined five other women on the 8 am train out of London, a single case resting on her lap as they rode out to the campsite of the 76th Infantry Division. A smiled crossed her lips as the countryside passed by in a blur, eyes watching the landscape covered in a thin blanket of snow.

When the train pulled into the station, the smile was still on her lips. She couldn’t have been more ready to begin her life anew. Broadmoor had become like a distant memory to her as she stepped from that platform. She felt like her life had finally come together.

 

* * *

 

In July of 1943, Jemma found him again.

They had both been a part of Operation Husky - the Allied invasion of Sicily. He had been reassigned to the Eighth Army in early May; she had been asked only two weeks prior to leaving for Sicily to join the regiment. It was the eve of the 10th when she caught sight of him; they had both been assigned to the same campsite.

She was gossiping with the other nurse in the camp, a woman named Anne, when she saw him. He was arguing with one of his fellow men about the pronunciation of some word Jemma didn't really care to pick up on. Hearing his familiar accent was enough for Jemma to say to Anne that she had something she needed to attend to.

Hesitantly she walked over to him, giving his shoulder a light tap. "I'm afraid your debate is over, I need to borrow Fitz for something."

The other quickly departed, and when he did, Fitz turned to look at Jemma.

"How did you - ?" He was looking at her with a smile wide across his face. It had been just over a year since he had last layed eyes on her. In the twilight he could barely make out her features, but could still see the change in her. She no longer looked sallow-skinned and fearful of what the new day would bring; she was lively and strong-bodied.

She didn't make an assessment of him, but pulled him into an embrace, burying her head in his shoulder. He couldn't tell, but she was crying. Though she had never seen his name on a casualty list, the fear never parted with her. Breaking away, she offered to take him to her tent. She was given one to herself and offered it up as a quiet place to catch up. He couldn't have been more quick to agree.

The tent was small, the two barely had enough room to sit comfortably and keep all of Jemma's equipment neatly organized. She lit her lantern, a soft glow filling the room. Both sat with rosy cheeks and big smiles as they recounted the last year of their lives.

"I think I read that Dickens novel three or four times," Fitz joked, speaking about _A Tale of Two Cities_. "Never had time to pick up a new book and the other guys don't carry any around."

"The ending always makes me cry," Jemma admitted with a bashful expression on her face. "Though I haven't read it in years."

"You can borrow it if you'd like."

Jemma told him she'd like that. Little conversations continued to flourish between them until they were both yawning and fighting to keep their eyes open. When Fitz told her that he should be heading back to his own tent, Jemma gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and wished him a good night.

"You too, Jem." He told her, giving a little wave as he walked with quiet steps across the camp.

In the morning, Jemma woke to find the camp in eerie silence. Leaving the tent, she saw only Anne and the soldiers too injured or ill to fight. Fitz was not among them. Finding that Anne had left a bit of breakfast for her, she quickly ate it before returning to her tent to ready herself for the day.

"Jemma," she heard Anne call, "I've already checked the men in camp. Until the others come back, we have nothing to do."

Jemma emerged with her hair pinned back and her uniform on, smiling at the older woman. "We could take a look around?" She suggested. "Though we should probably wait for them. After all, we're all they've got."

Anne didn’t give a response, but went back to stacking up some boxes to take the the medical tent. When Jemma offered to help, she was refused. “It’s not that much, Jem, I can handle it. Go back to your tent; enjoy the silence.”

She gave Anne a nod, returning to her tent until she realized that aside from her lamp and change of clothes, there wasn’t much else in the tent. Jemma reemerged and decided to find Fitz’s tent, wanting to take him up on his previous offer to reread his copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_. It took her little time to find it, it was resting on a small grey blanket on the first tent she came to, as if he had left it for her. Instead of returning to her own tent across the campsite, she sat herself on the blanket and turned to the first page, reading over the opening lines.

_It was the best of times, it was the worst of times -_

She read through the opening lines, a weak smile on her lips. Familiarizing herself with Dickens’ text once more, she continued until late afternoon, when the sound of booming voices forced her to set the novel down. She left the tent to see a collection of several shouting soldiers - roughly seven - holding up three wounded bodies. From her current spot, she couldn’t make out who they were but called for them to go to the medical tent where she was sure Anne was already waiting.

Color drained from her face when she took a look at the first of the three wounded men. She instructed the soldiers to get out, needing the space to work. Anne was already at work, placing a wet cloth to the second man’s leg. She worked between him and another while Jemma concentrated on one.

She watched his eyes flutter open momentarily before closing again when she took a cloth to his chest after stripping him of his shirt and jacket. “Stay with me, Fitz.” Her voice was weak, almost hoarse. She tossed the cloth aside as she collected the tools required from removing the bullet from his chest.

The two men Anne worked with suffered minor shots to the leg, shots that only just grazed the flesh. It was loss of blood that was ailing them, not a prominent bullet wound. Patching the two back up, she set a glass of water by each of them when she finished and walked over to help Jemma. The younger girl’s fingers trembled as she worked with the scalpel. She had gone into a mode of panic, realizing the equipment the two girls had to work with was hardly adequate..

“We weren’t supposed to engage. We were supposed to wait for the other group to join us - it was a scouting mission..” She was speaking mostly to herself, her tone fast and full of nerves as she asked Anne to hold the unconscious man still. “He’s going to die; he’s going to die.” She repeated. Another group that included roughly twenty nurses and another handful of soldiers was supposed to be arriving that evening. They were the group with the proper supplies and anesthetics. Anne and Jemma were only there to attend to a common cold or bandage someone up if they tripped on a rock.

She was lost.

Anne offered to take over, seeing Jemma slowly breaking down at the sight of Fitz’s pale form. Jemma handed her the cloth and the pair of large tweezers, giving him a final look over before leaving the tent with wet eyes and bloodied hands.

“Are they going to be okay?” One of the soldiers approached Jemma and asked her about his comrades.

“Polk and Granger should be fine, they only suffered minor injuries.” Jemma tried to give a reassuring nod, though the tears in her eyes betrayed the confident speak she tried to build up.

“And Fitz?”

She took a breath, wishing the man hadn’t approached her about the subject. “The group that should be arriving this evening is coming with the proper supplies - the anesthetics, proper bedding and tools were all coming with them. We barely have enough bandages in our kits.”

“Will he make it?”

She shook her head, biting hard on her lip until she felt the taste of blood. “We were under the impression that you wouldn’t be engaging in conflict. Hense why Anne and I are the only two here for the time being.” She wished to be left alone and told him so, going to find a place to wash her hands.

It was less than twenty minutes later that she returned to him. She pulled a stool up to his side and began running a shaky hand through his hair. When she touched his forehead she felt that he was feverish. Anne told her that he woke midway through her operation on his chest, writhing in pain. She had found a bit of anesthesia in the bottom of one of the kits and administered it to him before she removed the bullet from his lung-area. Anne told her his chances didn’t look good.

Jemma nodded and told her to join the boys for dinner upon hearing the sound of the others returning to the camp. She also told her to keep them out of the tent, not wanting them to crowd around the wounded men. Anne obliged and left Jemma to sit with the still-unconscious boy.

“This should never have happened to you, Fitz.” She placed a kiss to his feverish forehead and another on each of his brows, having to stand from her stool to do so. She knew the efforts of both her and Anne were in vain - he had lost too much blood and Jemma knew the oxygen flow to his brain was being cut off from the spot of the puncture. He was approaching death and all she could do was sit back and watch.

He never did regain consciousness. Jemma was alone when she noticed the slow rise and fall of his chest had stopped. When she checked for a pulse, there was none. Looking at her watch, she clocked his death at around 6:23 pm. Outside, the sun was still shining and not a cloud covered the sky. She placed a final kiss to the top of his head, feeling the memories wash over her.

She remembered the first time she saw him, listened to him tell false stories across from her in Broadmoor. She remembered the conversations in the garden, the plans of sneaking out. She remembered his smile, his charisma. Now all she had was a corpse that she was forced to show off to the other soldiers. They had lost a brother, she had lost something more.

With a broken voice she gathered them together, announcing that Leopold Fitz had officially parted with this world. Ghostly faces stared back at her, each wishing to pay their respects. She allowed them, going to his tent to collect his things as they began to enter the medical tent. She found the copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ in the same place she had left it. When she looked over the page she left off on, she found the quote, “ _There is a man who would give his life to keep a life you love beside you._ ”

A string of tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. In a way, that was what Fitz had been setting out to do since the day he heard her story. He was waiting on her words, waiting to act on what she said to him. Though his death was not for her specifically, he parted from this world in a position that would give others a chance at life (and she would find that she too would be given the same chance).

Jemma closed the book and rejoined the others. The other group had arrived, the nurses already setting up their equipment in the tent. She walked over to join them, putting on a strong exterior and ready to do her part, just as Fitz had done his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter. I hope to post the epilogue soon. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story; it's been fun.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> loose ends tied up

**Glasgow, Scotland**

**1956**

Jemma stood with her hands behind her back, looking down at the little stone on the ground. She had kept tabs on the Fitz family after the war and learned that they had requested the burial of their son to be in his home country. She had missed the funeral, having been stationed somewhere along the front lines, and had never found it in her to visit the site until some thirteen years later.

Bending down, Jemma placed a small bouquet of flowers against the tombstone, a bouquet colored with reds and yellows and oranges. When she stood herself back up, she began to bat away the tears in her eyes, feeling her face grow hot when she heard someone coming up behind her. “I won’t be much longer,” she said, not turning towards the person.

“It’s uh - it’s fine.”

Jemma recognized the voice and this time turned to look at the man speaking. Donnie Gill, the American boy from the asylum, stood with his hands in his jacket pockets and head bowed. He looked healthy, Jemma observed; he looked happy. He no longer looked gaunt and frail, but strong bodied and wore the traces of a smile on his lips. She was so grateful to see him as such, she knew he deserved it.

“How have you been, Donnie?” Jemma asked, taking a step away from the grave.

“Good, really good.”

She beamed at him, telling him she was glad he was doing so well. Then she asked, “What brings you here?”

The boy shrugged, unsure. “I just, I wanted to say a goodbye? I was in the area and remembered reading about his death years ago but never had the time or money to come up.”

“It’s really sweet of you to come, Donnie.” She gave him a little pat on the shoulder before announcing that she should be getting back to where she was staying the night before it got too dark. She gave him a final goodbye, a warm glow still spread across her cheeks and tears lining her eyes.

The conversation was short, but full of meaning. Jemma only wished the circumstances had been different.  

 

* * *

**London, England**

**1958**

Jemma found Raina two years following her encounter with Donnie. She was working in the hospital, having taken a job there as a full-time nurse, when the girl sauntered in complaining of a fever among other symptoms.

Upon seeing Jemma in her uniform, Raina requested to be seen by her, giving a wink to Jemma as she spoke to the woman at the front desk. Jemma found herself looking at her feet before agreeing to show Raina to one of the rooms for a checkup.

“I feel fine,” Raina admitted once they had closed the door to the examining room. “I heard you were working here and wanted to check up on you. You survived.”

“Yes, I did.” Jemma said, biting at her lip as she looked at the woman. “I was one of the lucky ones, I suppose.”

“But your boy, Fitz, he didn’t?”

“I don’t know why you’re referring to him as my boy, and if that’s all you’ve come to speak with me about I’d really appreciate it if you’d be on your way. I have patients to attend to. Besides, it’s been years since he -” She tried to keep her composure, but began to slip towards the end. She hadn’t thought about his death for sometime; it hit her hard.

Watching Jemma develop tears in her eyes was reason enough for Raina to say she had to be going. She wished Jemma a good day and said she’d been cured. “I’ll tell the lady up front what an angel you are.” Sarcasm dripped off her voice, but still Jemma tried to smile at the woman’s words.

She gave a wave as Raina left the room. It took her an extra moment to recollect herself, but when she did, she too departed. Though, the mood in which she left was an extreme contrast of the emotions she had felt when she first saw Raina. A genuine smile didn’t grace her face for the remainder of the day; the only ones she could muster up were forced for her patients.

She left work that night with slow steps, trudging along on weary legs until she finally reached her flat. She took off her shoes and walked to her bedroom, turning on lights as she did so. She opened the drawer on the bedside table and pulled out an old piece of paper, unfolding it until she could see the script.

It was Fitz’s handwriting.

When his stuff was being sorted through following his death, a sealed envelope was found addressed to Jemma. She had been tracked down and given the letter at once. It took her over a year of having the letter in her possession before she found it in her to open it and read the words he wanted to say. With tired eyes, she began to read it again.

_Jemma,_

_I don’t know if this will ever get to you, I really hope it does. Wallace won’t shut up, I think he’s doing it just for me. The men aren’t all that bad, but Wallace can be. Oliver and George are good though. Anyways, I want to be able to give this to you in person after the war. With my luck that won’t happen. I’m not really sure what else to say, besides that I miss you. You were a great friend, Jemma. And you were right. So thank you for everything that you did for me. I’m sure you’re getting tired of me rambling on. So, yeah. I hope to see you soon. Hope everything works out for you.._

_         - Fitz _

 

There was a little line below his name that had been so heavily crossed out Jemma was never able to make it out. She would never have the chance to ask him either. Setting the letter down, she left her bedroom, trying to push the little scribbles out of her mind.

(The little scribbles that covered up the words _I love you_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the fic is complete! I did it. I completed an entire fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Naturally the title came from lyrics from a Black Keys song. What else? I hope the next chapter will be up soon, like before June ends.


End file.
